


Let's Call This Therapy

by lollymc



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Kissing, M/M, arm kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 08:07:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lollymc/pseuds/lollymc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will really likes Hannibal's arms</p>
<p>Written to fill a prompt in the kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Call This Therapy

"I'll dry if you wash," Will says quietly and with a little smile, after yet another delectable meal in a sumptuous room. Hannibal raises his eyebrows as if to remind his guest whose house it is, but then smiles back and inclines his head.

He leads the way into the kitchen, plates balanced on both his arms with restaurant-level precision. Will can't quite keep his eyes from flicking to the very subtle sway of Hannibal's hips and the way his perfectly-tailored suit covers the hard lines of his body and the way every single movement has purpose. Hannibal is not a fiddler or a fusser and Will loves that. His world changes so often, Hell his own mind is hardly ever his own, that real stability is, to him, a wonder to behold.

Hannibal runs the water into the elegant stainless steel sink and rolls up his sleeves. In most people an unimportant and rather banal movement but with Hannibal it is near-mechanical. Three sharp moves; unbutton the cuff, fold it up once then fold it a second time. The exact same for the other sleeve. Will briefly notes he'd wager a large amount of money that the length of the sleeves are still within half an inch of each other.

The two have been spending more and more time together. It started innocently enough - their not-quite-therapy sessions went from being weekly to bi-weekly to practically seeing each other every day, in some way. Then Hannibal asked him to stay for dinner. At first, Will had been extremely nervous. He wasn't exactly one for friends - even he and Alana hardly ever spent time in solely each others' company. But Hannibal's friendship was so different from anything the FBI agent had ever encountered. He was quiet but the silence didn't feel awkward. He was intense but it wasn't overwhelming. He was interested in Will but did not make Will want to retreat into himself. It was easy.

Will's ease with his psychiatrist is so complete that he doesn't realise there's a pile of dripping crockery stacking up next to him. All his attention is on Hannibal's arms as he takes a tall thin-stemmed wine glass in hand. The flex of strong muscles just visible under that pale pale skin, mapped with thick veins that seem to engorge ever-so-slightly as he submerges the glass in the soapy water. Will desires so fervently to run his fingertips over those veins, those vessels containing the essence of Hannibal's life, but only with the lighest of touches. He doesn't want to displace them.

"Will." Hannibal's voice is low and soft but it breaks into Will's consciousness with as much force as if he'd smashed a glass.

Will smiles ruefully, expecting a light scolding for slacking in his domestic duties. He reaches out for a damp plate but his hand is stopped. He looks and sees those long fingers curled around his wrist and instantly feels a heat rise in his groin. 

"Yes?" He avoids eye contact at all costs, doesn't want Hannibal to see the desire that hides there.

"Will," Hannibal repeats, in an almost purr, as he pulls his patient closer. This is against every rule there has ever been, in either of their careers but it doesn't seem to matter, "You want something. Tell me what it is. Show me."

If anyone had tried to hypothesise this situation to Will he's not sure he would have heard them out, his embarrassment would have overtaken everything and made him want to hide away with his strays.

But in the moment, it's not too bad. He still shakes as he takes Hannibal's hand in his own and holds it tenderly, but it's not awful. As he steadily draws an invisible path along that blue road he notices Hannibal's lips curl up at the edges. It's encouraging. He bends his head slowly and replaces his rough fingers with his warm, wet tongue and this time Hannibal doesn't just smirk, he has to grasp at the counter edge. When his breathing stills Will can almost feel the pulsing of the vein, and for a split second he imagines nipping it, watching the hot blood bead at the surface of the damaged skin. His arousal increases.

If only Will could see that Hannibal was having the same fantasy (only his was a little more explicit), he would have better understood the ferocity with which Hannibal took his face in his hands and demanded ownership of Will's lips.

The meagre space between them is eaten up by their desire as Will presses himself close to the doctor, not able to get close enough. When Hannibal moves his hands away from Will's face and winds his arms possessively round his neck, the FBI agent's cock twitches and he moans lightly into their kiss.

The kiss contains all the unspoken things - both good and bad. It feels as fantastic as it does terrifying.

When they are forced to stop to catch their breath, Will clutches at those hands he loves.

"You're a pretty unorthodox therapist, you know that?" Will laughs breathily, catching Hannibal's eyes.

The doctor smiles back, "Oh Will, I defy social conventions in more ways than you know. You have a lot more to look forward to."

Will doesn't doubt it for a second.


End file.
